


Busted

by machka



Series: Anodyne [6]
Category: Bandom: Axium, Bandom: MWK, Real Person Fiction, Tulsa Gangstas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-12
Updated: 2008-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:32:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machka/pseuds/machka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keeping in contact with them was no hardship at all. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busted

**Author's Note:**

> I have been struggling mightily with my Muse over Part 3 of this series -- I had a prompt that I was trying to write to, and all She wanted to do was sit in the corner and sulk until I wrote the scene that She wanted me to write.
> 
> Once I started writing it for Her, it kind of took on a life of its own. *facepalm* It's still very much related to this series, although it doesn't fit the prompt I was trying to write... And because I haven't updated this fic in, like, _forever,_ you guys are getting a bonus chapter out of it. :D And it's long. Very long. Oops. :D
> 
> Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. The events described therein are not intended to represent actual events. No libel or defamation is intended in posting said fictitious work.
> 
> In other words, it's not real, because I made it all up.

...You still can't believe that Jeff had allowed Andy and Neal to stay.

And you absolutely can _not_ believe that he had ever permitted Andy to perform the backup vox on that song.

You'd told him everything, of course -- spilled your guts immediately when the look on his face demanded to know just how this kid from another state had even known the words to sing.

And the worst of it was, you knew how protective he was of the band's intellectual property, to the point of checking into copyrights and shit. You knew you'd pissed him off by showing a work-in-progress to members of what could only be considered a rival band, and still he'd found something in his heart that had allowed him to make that amazing concession to you.

"Just sing the fucking thing like you did at the fucking bar last night, assholes," he'd growled impatiently, as your mouth had dropped open in amazement. "I know you fuckers can do it..."

And Andy alone had had the presence of mind to grab your hand and lead you into the booth beyond.

Three takes later, you'd still been staring just as intently into each other's eyes, and Andy'd still been nailing every take flawlessly, and your voices had still blended just as well as they had since that first night in Tulsa, and you were still as easily broken as a porcelain doll by the wonder of it all, and Jeff had abruptly developed a flat, angry look on his face that he was trying to disguise but never quite succeeding...

It was then, and only then, that you realized that Andy had yet to let go of your hand.

And you just couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

\----------

Your face absolutely lights up as you hear the the finished product blasting through your Jeep's blown-out speakers on your way home from a gig in Wisconsin -- the first gig where Axium had shared a bill with the Kings.

It -- that -- all of it -- was twenty different kinds of awesome, and you still can't find the words to describe any of it.

Maybe you never will.

Beaming with the same delight you'd felt when you'd told Jeff about the AMC Theaters' MovieTunes request -- you'd been so fucking proud of this damn song then, and you're even more so now -- you tuck your knees up under your chin (which isn't hard to do, considering your feet are planted on a cardboard box half-full of that very same product you're sampling, crammed into the narrow space behind the driver's seat and the one you're wobbling in now), and close your eyes as the song hits its bridge, and Jeff's solo...

...The same solo that Neal had played for you after the Kings' show in Tulsa that night you'd first played "Hold" for them; the one you'd brought back and played for Jeff, watching his expression change from grave consideration to an eerie combination of realization and satisfaction...

Oh, the _look_ Neal had given you from the recording booth when Jeff had torn into it, and recognition had hit him square between the eyes... such a perfect blend of exasperation and affection that you couldn't help but shrug and grin back...

And you know what comes next, and in your mind you're hitting your knees yet again at the lip of the stage and beckoning Andy closer...

 _"David!"_

Bobby's voice penetrates the fog inside your brain with crystal clarity, tearing you away from your favorite memory of all.

"What's up?"

"You haven't heard a damn thing I said, have you."

You give him that same goofy smile you'd given Neal, and shake your head slowly. "Nope. Not at all."

He trades eyerolls with Jeff in the driver's seat, and twists back around to stare at you in the waxes and wanes of the passing street lamps.

"We -- all three of us," he gestures to include Jerron in the collective, "--think that the Kings are a pretty decent fit with us, man," he replied. "Since you know them so well..."

"Yeah... A little _too_ well," Jeff mutters petulantly, and you miss neither the jealousy in his voice, nor the withering glance Bobby shoots his way.

"...And they seem to like you well enough," Bobby continues, "We were thinking you should be our, I dunno...liaison with them? Y'know...stay in touch with--is it Andy and Neal?"

Oh, like _that's_ gonna be a hardship...

"--And maybe see about arranging some more shows where we're on the same bill? I mean, tonight we really seemed to click with the crowd, and it seemed like the enthusiasm was pretty much the same for both them and us..."

And you're just gonna have to take his word for it, since the crowd's reaction was the last thing on your mind when Andy was on that stage singing...

"...It looks like our audiences might be similar enough that we could scratch each others' backs, y'know? It would totally be to both our benefits..."

You nod slowly as his voice fades away, drowned out by a clear tenor floating out from the speakers over your tortured baritone... You watch his lips continue to move and you continue to nod and you have no fucking clue what you're even agreeing to anymore -- your only thoughts are of wide hazel eyes and a shock of dark brown hair and a soul that's so much older than its years.

\----------

You know what? Bobby and Jeff actually asking -- well, damn near begging -- you to keep in touch with him? God, that's absolutely no fucking trouble at all -- they're just giving you reasons to see each other.

And thus, when school starts back up again, there's always a plausible excuse for your absences from campus on increasingly recurrent weekends.

And the more time you spend in their company, the more you're coming to realize that there's so much more out there than you'd thought...and the potential is simultaneously frightening and exhilarating, all at once.

But the more time you spend away from Missouri, the worse Jeff's attitude becomes, and his snide remarks and suspicions and petty jealousy are getting pretty tedious... Familiarity has begun to breed contempt, and your song-writing begins to reflect that.

You hadn't realized just how possessive Jeff would become when faced with the prospect of losing you -- until the night when Jeff comes backstage during the Kings' set to hear you playing their song on your guitar.

That's the night the two of you very nearly come to blows, and Bobby and Jerron have to drag you apart -- Jerron pinning you in a corner of the room, shaking his head sadly, while Bobby drags Jeff into the hallway, where you can clearly hear the two of them arguing and berating each other.

It's the last time Jerron ever plays with Axium, and you can't say you blame him much for leaving.

Bobby approaches you not long afterward, almost apologetically, and suggests that, in the interest of unity, you may want to start spending less time with the Kings, and concentrate on Axium instead.

Your response? Fuck that shit.

Jeff's jealous.

He's angry.

He's scared.

And you? You're just fucking _pissed,_ and his emotions have nothing to do with you.

Your emotions, you pour into your words...and they're not very pretty at all.

Bobby frowns as he scans your newest lyrics and looks at you with raised eyebrows and sad eyes. But if Jeff realizes that those songs are about him, he never says a word.

\----------

You give Andy a copy of "Blindsided" for his eighteenth birthday, but don't tell him that he's the inspiration for its title.

And one of your most cherished possessions is the copy of the Kings' eponymous CD that he gifts you with on your twenty-first.

That, and the skull-head shot glass that Neal somehow came up with...

And between them, competitive as they are, there's much rampant speculation and debate as to which one you'll get the most use out of.

\----------

Andy slows to a halt beside you, dragging his phone out of his pocket; and he rolls his eyes at the caller ID before he flips it open.

"Hey, Lexi, what's up?"

You hear Neal snicker and shoot him a glance as Andy throws him the bird.

"Shut up, Neal," he hisses, and then, "What's that? Yeah, Neal's here...No, actually, we're in Missouri...Nope, no shows this weekend -- we're visiting Dave... David Cook? ...The Axium guy?"

And now Neal's laughing outright, doubled over in the quad, even, drawing sidelong looks from the other students walking past; and your face is turning beet-red, because you know you've met Alexis at least a couple times at some of the Kings' shows, and you really thought you'd made a better impression than that...

"...Yeah, that guy," Andy's continuing, shrugging his shoulders apologetically at you and shaking his head. "Uh-huh...We're going to a party tonight at his fraternity--"

And here he has to pull the phone away from his ear, and she's yelling so loudly you can _almost_ make out what she's saying, except her screaming distorts it so badly that now you really don't want to know...

"Goddamn, Lex, chill out a sec!" he hollers, holding the handset a few inches away from his head, and there's sudden silence from the other end. Cautiously, he brings the phone back up to his ear.

"Yes, I know I'm underaged, Lex. Yes, I know there's tons of drinking at these things... but, um, hello, seriously? We play in _bars_ , Lexi -- it's not like I've never--" More yelling, and he winces before raising his voice to talk over her. "--And _yes,_ Dad knows, Alexis -- fuck!"

That seems to shut her down momentarily, and he covers his face with a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. Neal collapses to the ground, breathless with laughter, and you're just standing there staring at the two of them, even more acutely aware of the looks being thrown your direction.

"C'mon, Alexis, shit!" Andy whines -- literally _whines,_ and now you're laughing too, and he's giving you this death glare from Hell -- "Gimme a little credit, here. I'm not gonna do anything stupid, I promise...Nuh-uh. No fuckin' way, Alexis... I can't believe...You can't ask me to do that! ...No! ...You just _can't!_ ...All _right,_ all right; just two drinks, I swear..." -- which sets both you and Neal off again, because seriously? _Seriously,_ this is some funny shit, right here... -- "Don't forget, Neal's here with me. Nothing-- Alexis, _please!_ "

Comedic. Fucking. _Gold._

Neal shifts to his knees and tugs on Andy's jacket. "Dude, gimme the phone," he whispers hoarsely, and Andy actually kicks him a little, just a glancing blow, and Neal grins wider, pawing at his arm. "C'mon man, seriously -- gimme."

"Lexi? Hang on a minute," Andy replies, and then shoves the phone into Neal's hand. "You want it so bad? Here!"

Neal just winks at you, and Andy rolls his eyes and flops onto the grass beside Neal, covering his face with his arm.

And immediately Neal's all business, dropping his voice into its lower register, all breathy and sexy-like, and your mouth is just hanging open now, because seriously, dude - what the fuck is going on?

"Hey, Alexis, it's Neal...No, baby, no yelling at me, don't treat me like that...Yeah, baby, I know he's your little brother...He's like a brother to me, too, babe..."

Andy's covered his face with both of his hands now, and it sounds like he's strangling on the groan he's stifled behind them. You're not sure what to make of this fuckery anymore, so you plop down beside him and start picking at your thumbnail, listening to Neal's one-sided conversation.

"Alexis. Darling. Listen to me," Neal's saying (and damned if his voice isn't suddenly dripping honey), "You know I'll take good care of him, baby -- I always have, haven't I? ...That's right, sugar, you know it... Yeah, I promise... Nope, no trouble tonight; I'll keep him on the straight and narrow, I swear..."

And Neal's making faces at you over Andy's body, and it actually sounds like Andy might be weeping behind his hands.

"Yeah, I know David pretty well; he's a good guy, Lexi... Yeah, we can trust him, babe... Alexis, he'll be fine. I promise. Nothing's gonna happen to your baby brother. All right? All right then... you take care, beautiful, and I'll have him call you first thing tomorrow, deal? ...Okay, later."

He closes the phone and drops it on Andy's heaving chest, fixing you with that bad-assed rocker stare.

"Yeah, I fucked her," he says smugly, and Andy finally screams out loud.

  
#####   


"...You can't be serious."

Jack, the fraternity's Social Chair, is staring back and forth between the two IDs in front of him and the corresponding persons opposite.

"Sure am," you assure him, and reach over the table to grab two of the 21+ wristbands beside his arm.

"Him? _Maybe,_ " Jack allows, pointing at Neal, who's got him pinned beneath his characteristic "gonna-fuck-you-up" look, and you watch the shiver run down Jack's spine with a snort. "--But him?" he continues, shifting his attention to Andy, who's beginning to look a little nervous now, bless his heart, "--Dude -- you can _not_ be _serious._ "

"What do their ID cards say?" you deflect, securing Neal's band around his wrist as you both exchange the faintest of smiles.

"David, please don't do this to me..." And Jack's pleading sounds almost desperate and more than a little frustrated, and you'd almost feel bad for him, except you totally don't.

"Jack," you murmur, tagging Andy's arm with the illicit band, "You know as well as I do that most of the people in that lounge are underaged..."

"But we know those people, David..."

"And I know _these_ people, Jack, and I'm vouching for 'em, okay?" you retort, arching an eyebrow at him. "C'mon, man, just look the other way..."

"Dave, so help me God, if we get busted tonight..."

You catch the weary tone of defeat in his voice, and you grin triumphantly.

"If the RAs show up, Jack, my room is right down the hall, and we'll hole up in there. I swear, man, if we get busted tonight, it ain't gonna be because of my friends."

"Oh, for fuck's sake...." he groans, and hands back their ID cards. "Now hurry up and go, before I change my fucking mind..."

"Thanks, bud - I appreciate it." You flash him your most winning smile, and steer your guests through the door.

  
#####   


"Shit! Andy, who gave you that punch?"

You've asked the question loudly enough for your brothers tending bar to have heard, and now they're laughing their damn asses off.

"Tommy, you fucking asshole!" you bellow, and he responds with a wide grin and a hearty wave of his hand, complete with extended middle digit.

"Fuck you, Davey," he replies cheerfully, indicating Neal standing in front of him. "Neal here says he's only allowed two drinks, so we figured we'd better make 'em count!"

Andy's staring at the large plastic cup in his hand with a puzzled look. "It's just punch, David," he reasons quietly. "How bad can it be?"

Uh, yeah -- until he takes his first sip and nearly chokes.

"Holy shit!" he gags, and Neal's now doubled over on the bar, joining his new best friend Tommy in laughing like a hyena.

"What the fuck did they put in this? Lighter fluid?" Andy sputters, and a fresh round of laughter begins behind you.

"That's Everclear, Andy," you warn him. "It's some serious shit, man -- 190 proof, and it will fuck your shit _up,_ especially since you're used to beer..."

And now he's staring at the cup like he's been snake-bit, but can't stop himself from attempting another sip. The face he makes is priceless, but he swallows it gamely, looking all the while like he desperately wants to spit it out.

"It's...not so bad..." he croaks, and now there's cheers and applause from the bar rail and Neal comes over to slap him on the back.

"Atta boy, Andy," he crows. "C'mon, Dave -- show me how to play that fucking dice game."

  
#####   


And that's how you end up sandwiched between them at a table in the lounge, with five other party-goers in varied stages of inebriation.

And God dammit if Andy isn't still kicking your ass -- and double-dammit if Neal hasn't joined him.

Fucking beginner's luck...

"Ha!!" Andy chortles, lifting the dice cup. "'Pick a dick'!" --and he points right at you, of _course_ \-- "David? You're th'biggest dick I know..." and Neal's punching your shoulder and laughing with delight.

Well, it's only appropriate, you suppose, since you're getting completely fucked, and you're thinking just now that you might actually hate him a little.

"'M soooo fuckin' sorry I ever taught ya this game, Skib," you mutter darkly, and finish off your beer.

"Oh, David..."

Oh, fuck.

Please, God, not now...

You cover your face with your hands as a set of manicured ones grips your shoulders, and just like that, your buzz is gone.

"Hey, Davey," coos the pretty girl that they belong to, and all of a sudden Andy and Neal are very interested in your college friends.

"Hey, Liz," you reply with a heavy sigh, and force a smile to your lips as you crane your neck to glance up into her face. "How've y'been?"

"Good! So! Are you gonna play for us tonight, baby?" she chirps, caressing your back, and her innate perkiness is setting your teeth on edge, oh my God....

"No, sorry, don't think so," you reply, your jaw clenching involuntarily. "Y'know, m'friends'r in town, 'n all..."

"Aren't you going to introduce me to them?" she pouts, leaning over your shoulder, and you can feel your eye begin to twitch.

"Elizabeth, this's Neal, 'n Andy -- guys, this's Liz."

" _David,_ " Neal responds, and his teasing tone makes the muscles in your jaw spasm violently, "Y'never told us y'had a girlfriend..."

"She's not m'girlfriend," you grind out between clenched teeth, and his eyebrow arches skyward in response.

"And that's just because you keep turning me down every time I ask you out, you fucking asshole," Liz bubbles cheerfully, "But that won't keep me from doing it, over and over..." She winks at Neal. "I'm persistent!"

And now you're pretty sure that your teeth are fused together, and Andy's eyes are locked on her cleavage where it's about to fall out of her dress, and Neal's giving you this frankly incredulous look, and you're kicking him under the table, probably a little harder than is strictly necessary.

"Oh well! I'll catch up with you later. Gonna go mix and mingle now," she sparkles -- yes, her voice actually sounds like it _sparkles,_ for fuck's sake -- and with a toss of her hair and an airy laugh, she's gone, and Neal is staring after her, and Andy is staring at you.

"Oh, what the _fuck,_ dude," Neal breathes, craning his head and nearly falling out of his chair to keep her (yes, pert and perfectly-shaped) ass in sight. "...Dude..." He turns back to you as she disappears into the crowd, and frowns in complete dismay. " _Dude._ Seriously. What. The. Fuck."

You shrug.

"You fuck her?"

"Coupla times." You shift uneasily in your chair. "We don't, uh, always get along..."

"So. Totally. Worth it," Neal replies, and he looks like he's going to say something else, but you cut him off immediately.

"Don't really wanna talk about it, 'kay thanks."

" _Dude._ "

"Yeah. Dude."

And then comes the dreaded announcement: "Shit, guys -- stow it! The RA's here!"

  
#####   


And that's how you all end up in your cramped dorm room, with its twin beds shoved together against one wall and the ridiculously tiny closet and your messy desk with artwork spread across it, and the dart board on the back of the door and the band posters on the walls and the girlie poster on the ceiling and your makeshift milk crate furniture, emblazoned with the ironic admonition "do not steal!"

"Swanky," Neal drawls, and you shoot him a warning look that is promptly ignored.

"Neal..."

"I c'n totally see why y'd never wanna bring chicks here, David..." he continues recklessly. "This whole place just screams 'geek chic'...."

You flop backwards onto the bed and throw an arm across your eyes. "Oh, will y'ever shut th'fuck up?" you ask, and the question itself is strictly rhetorical.

"Aw, c'mon, man," he replies, crawling up from the foot of the bed to stretch out beside you. "'M just teasing."

"...I know." You lift your arm and peer over at Andy, who's studying your desk with a vague sense of wonder on his face. "Oh, shit, he's found my nudes..." you mutter quietly, and Neal snorts aloud.

"Hey, Andy?" you call over, and he turns around very slowly.

"Neal, I've changed my mind about college," he breathes, sinking to the bed on the other side of you. "I wanna go into graphic arts, too."

Snickering, you grab the collar of his shirt to drag him down beside you, and fish for the remote under the pillow. "C'mon, guys, let's watch some TV."

...Oh.

...Whoops.

"Um. I... Um." You can feel your face turning a shade of red you're certain has never before been seen in nature. "Uh...hmmmm."

Andy's eyes are glazing over, and they look like they're about to bug out of his head, and Neal has the most insanely happy grin on his face right now, you don't even know anymore...

"...I, um, sorta forgot I had that DVD in there... Sorry, guys... Lemme get somethin' else..."

And then Neal is pressing you back into the bed with one hand, and grabbing the remote with the other, and shaking his head in the negative, still smiling like a deranged lunatic.

"Oh, _hell_ no, Mr. Cook. This is fine, just fine, thank you very much." He lays back on the bed, stealing one of your pillows. "Yeah, this'll do very nicely indeed..."

...And that's how you and your friends wind up in your cramped dorm room together, watching a mother-fucking _porno._

  
#####   


You're a very visual person, and there's a reason in particular this DVD was in -- well, pretty much never _left_ \-- your DVD player.

And that reason is making your life pretty fucking hellish right now.

You shift your hips as subtly as you can, but there's no relief to be found, and God dammit if Andy isn't casting sideways glances at your bulge, and Neal, asshole that he is, is laughing at you silently.

You close your eyes and swallow hard, trying not to think about how your hand is forming a fist on your thigh and how badly you're aching to be touched...

 _Y'know what?_ you think.

 _...Fuck it._

Giving your shirt a sharp tug to dislodge it, you unfasten your jeans and shimmy them down past your hips, ignoring the hitch in Andy's breath beside you as your cock springs free.

"Dude! What the fuck?!" Neal chokes out, and you give him a hard shove, reaching for the bottle of lotion now hidden beneath his pillow.

"God dammit, Tiemann, just shut th'fuck up, a'ight, cuz this's all yer fuckin' fault!" you growl, flailing the lotion bottle impatiently. " _I_ wanted t'put somethin' else in, 'member? But nooooooooo, _you_ had t'watch this instead!"

You swallow a groan of relief as you finally -- finally! -- wrap your hand around your erection and begin to stroke lazily.

"...Oh my God." Andy's voice suddenly sounds very small to your ears, but right now you've only got one thought on your mind, and it isn't about anybody else's discomfort but your own.

"An' now, thanks t'you?" you continue hoarsely. "I'm drunk, I'm horny, I haven't gotten off in for-fuckin'-ever, an' this's _my_ fuckin' dorm room, an' I need t' _come,_ God dammit, an' if you don't like it? Don't fuckin' _look._ "

And for a good three minutes there's not a sound in the room but the girl moaning on the TV and your hand moving slickly over your cock.

You can feel both of their eyes drifting over your body at different times, but you keep your own locked straight ahead, staring at the screen, breathing deeply in and out, trying to maintain some semblance of control, when what you really want to do is rub one out as quickly as possible.

"Oh, goddammit," Neal says quietly. "We're all guys here, right?" There's the sound of a zipper being lowered, and then he's wriggling his way out of his jeans, and nudging you with an elbow. "Dammit, pass t'fuckin' lotion."

"Here, asshole." You whip the bottle at him with your free hand, baring your teeth in a smile at the grunt he makes when it smacks against his exposed hipbone. "Now shut th'fuck _up_ already -- 'M tryin' to concentrate."

"Oh, _fuck..._ " Andy whispers in a strangled voice, and you notice he's gone completely rigid -- absolutely stiff as a board -- next to you. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, and you slide your eyes sideways just in time to catch him palming himself through his jeans.

Immediately you have to squeeze tightly at the base of your shaft to fight back the orgasm which threatens to overwhelm you at the sight.

You wrench your eyes away from the hand cupping his groin, and drag your gaze up to his face instead.

His pupils are blown wide open, darkening his eyes, which are glued to the bodies writhing on the screen rather than on the ones in the bed beside him; but the tips of his ears are so brightly reddened that they look like they might actually burst into flame.

"Shut up, boy..." Neal's muttering under his breath to your left. "Man's got _needs,_ y'know..."

You watch Andy's throat work as he swallows, and you have to tear your eyes away or this will most definitely be over with far too soon.

"Shut up, both a' you," you snarl. "This's th'good part..." Your voice is thick with arousal, and Andy honest-to-God shivers at the sound, though if you were to think about that too much, well...yeah.

The action on the screen changes, and you start working yourself in earnest, moving faster and stroking with purpose. Your free hand slips between your legs to fondle your balls, and your hips come off the bed involuntarily.

"Jesus Christ!" Neal barks, and Andy's groaning softly, moving his own hips beside you, rubbing himself through his jeans to your rhythm.

"I _tol'_ ya, I need t'get _off!_ " you rasp, scrunching your eyes shut and throwing your head back against your pillow.

"Just don't fuckin' _rip_ it off, okay?"

"Neal, y'see that poster up there?" you pant, jerking both your jaw and your dick toward the ceiling to indicate it.

"Yeah... she's hot."

"Here's th'thing, Neal...I keep tellin' m'self that one 'a these days, 'm gonna come all over her tits..." You swallow hard, arching your back as the warmth begins to spread. "'M not jus' gonna _come,_ Tiemann... 'M goin' f'r distance."

"...Um...It's good--t'have...goals...?" he replies, in a tone that indicates he's not sure if you're being serious, but good _God_ you really don't fucking care, because holy-fucking-goddamned-hell-mother-fucking shit--!!

And you finally let yourself go with a buck of your hips and a loud string of curses, and each spasm of your climax is coming from deep inside your aching balls, and you've never come so God-damned hard in your entire fucking life, holy shit...

"...Whoa...Impressive..." Neal says in wonderment, and Andy makes a strangled choking sound as your come hits your stomach.

"Beat...that...muthafuckas...," you pant, and collapse into the mattress with a smile.

  
#####   


Even when thoroughly sated, you're still a visual person.

Now that they no longer have you to watch, Neal and Andy are in their own little masturbatory worlds, so they don't notice when your eyes finally crack open, or when you start sizing them up.

...Well, honestly, Andy's not giving you much of anything to look at, with his jeans zipped up tighter than a virgin's ass, so that just leaves the red-head to your left.

Neal's of fairly good size, you reckon, just about as long as you are...maybe a little thicker, but you're _so_ not gonna wrap your hand around it, or anything, so it's hard to tell...

His Prince Albert both fascinates and repulses you -- and for God's sake, he's really not one to talk about ripping it off, from the way he's whaling on himself...

He grimaces something ugly, and comes without a fucking sound, swiping his palm over the head of his cock, using his own semen to lubricate his final strokes.

In two minutes flat, he's out like a light, snoring softly, still holding his dick in his hand.

But Andy's gone back to completely rigid beside you. He's still got some major happy in his pants, it's plain to see, but his eyes are squeezed shut and his hands have balled into fists at his sides, and he looks... well, incredibly uncomfortable.

And now you feel kind of bad about the whole thing, except not, because you totally got a righteous orgasm out of it, and you told them they didn't have to look... But still.

You push yourself up to a sitting position and yawn elaborately, glancing his way. "Y'need anythin', Andy?" you ask quietly.

You see him tense up just a bit more, and he keeps his eyes closed as he shakes his head.

"'M gonna turn off th' light, then, 'kay? I think Neal's got th'right idea..."

He shrugs tightly, and you respond in kind, though he can't see it, and slip off the bed to flick off the light.

  
#####   


You're just about to drift into a sex-and-alcohol-induced sleep when your mind registers the slight shift of weight on the bed to your right.

You've slept with others before, naturally, so it's not enough to completely startle you; but you haven't slept with enough to be able to ignore it, and now you're wide awake again and squinting at the darkened ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

There's a pause, like a breath is being held, and for the second time that night, the soft sound of a zipper being lowered, tooth by slow tooth, reaches your ears. Another pause, as if listening for something; and then more cautious shifting, and finally the gentle puff of an exhale followed by an even softer hissing intake of breath, and curiosity gets the better of you.

You turn your head minutely, and in the dim light filtering through your curtains, you catch a glimpse of Andy's cock disappearing into his fist, and holy shit, you never _ever_ thought you'd be grateful for that streetlight just outside your window.

And you can complete your "Dicks in My Dorm Room" survey at last.

Oh, it's nothing special, really; you've seen dozens of cocks just like his in your high school locker room, but this one...you can't seem to tear your eyes away.

He drops himself abruptly, and you quickly slit your eyes, just in case he looks your way, but instead, he brings his hand to his mouth, licking his palm wetly.

...And if you hadn't emptied your balls so thoroughly a scant half-hour ago, you'd probably be coming again.

He grips himself once more, and you're fascinated by it all; watching his face, his hips, his technique, his hand, his cock disappearing and reappearing with every stroke, wondering how it would feel to lay between his legs and place your hand over his, to touch that little bead of pre-come you see glistening at the tip--

\--Holy fuck.

You've always been a horny drunk, sure -- but Jesus _Christ,_ where the fuck did _that_ just come from?!

His breathing changes, pulling you out of your thoughts, and his hips shift, and he's stroking himself a bit carefully now, and it dawns on you that he's never gonna think to ask for the lotion, since he apparently thinks you guys are asleep--but he'd probably really appreciate it...

So you find yourself groping at Neal's side for the bottle, stirring him only slightly at your touch.

"Round two already?" he mumbles under his breath, never opening his eyes, and you snort faintly with amusement.

Andy freezes in place, gripping himself tightly, and stupid-assed you realizes you've given yourself away.

"Yeah, somethin' like that," you reply softly. "Go back t'sleep, asshole."

"M'kay..." he exhales, and promptly does just that.

Well, you're committed now, you figure; no use pretending that you were carrying on a conversation in your sleep... Steeling yourself, you nudge Andy's hip lightly with the bottle.

He startles just the slightest bit, and turns his head your direction, cracking an eye open in inquiry.

You hold the bottle up in response, and he just barely nods, just once; but he refuses to take the bottle from your hand. Instead, he cants his hips toward you, keeping his hand locked in place, and you realize he wants you to _put it on for him,_ holy fucking shit...

Well.

 _This_ is awkward, isn't it.

Yeah.

But yeah...

...Yeah, you do it.

You'd think it would be easier for him now, but it's not -- or at least it doesn't seem to be, because he's pretty fucking tense all of a sudden, his movements are shorter, more constricted, like he's trying to...disguise? or conceal? his--

His--

Oh, my fucking God.

You, sir, are a fucking _idiot._

You haven't know each other all that long, but you've become such good friends that sometimes you forget how young he really is, and how shy he's always been.

There's a reason he waited until he thought you and Neal were asleep -- he's _embarrassed,_ you dumbass.

Of what, you can't imagine, 'cause seriously? He's looking pretty damn good from where you are... In fact, he's damn near...

"...Perfect..." you breathe.

His hand stills as he inhales sharply, and there's an escalation of the tension in the air between you, and if it were ever possible to listen with an entire body, you think he's probably doing it now.

And you remember how it felt to be eighteen, and how you felt about your body at eighteen, and you can't fucking stop yourself.

And you're moving closer, rolling toward him; and you're reaching out, and you're caressing his flank, and he's fucking _shuddering_ under your touch, and you're whispering again, so quietly you almost can't even hear yourself: "...So fuckin' _beautiful..._ "

He won't look at you -- you suspect he _can't;_ doesn't _dare_ look, in fact; doesn't trust himself to do so... He keeps his eyes glued shut, and swallows thickly, and then his hand begins to move again, less tentatively, and you can't believe you're doing it, but you're actually murmuring encouragement...and he's _responding_ to it, Jesus Christ...

And you know it's just the alcohol that's taken over your brain, but you're suddenly desperate to hear the noises he makes, see what he looks like, when he lets himself go...

"What d'ya sound like when y'come, Andy?"

Okay -- _clearly_ you've gone insane now, seriously, 'cause you swear to God you have no fucking clue how those words just left your mouth.

And he whimpers, okay -- fucking _whimpers_ , and holy goddamn fucking _shit_ if you had any semen left, you'd be spilling all over your sheets a third time, like a horny fucking teenager.

"...That's it, Andy, c'mon..." you whisper, so softly it's almost a breath ghosting across his cheek. "I want t'hear you..."

And he's moaning quietly and shuddering again as his hand speeds up, and your hand is caressing his hip and running down his thigh.

"I want t'see you, Andy..."

You watch the perspiration bead up on his forehead; watch his free hand as it glides over his stomach and chest; watch his hips move and the muscles in his ass contract as he thrusts up into his fist; watch his lips tighten and thin...

"I want t'watch y'lose control..."

His teeth clamp together on his lower lip as he bites back a groan, and he's stroking himself so hard and so fast that his hand is nearly a blur, and you know it won't be long...

"C'mon, Andy...come for me..."

\--And those words are what sends him over the edge, making his body arch; and as his face contorts with the agony of ecstasy, you're panting in tandem with him as he erupts, spilling over his hand.

"...Fuck..." he whimpers, in a broken voice, and throws an arm across his eyes to avoid your gaze.

He doesn't say anything more.

And you know enough to take the fucking hint.

You roll onto your back and stare at your paper girlfriend, winking down at you from above, and wonder why she suddenly looks so foreign.

\----------

Neal is the first one awake in the morning (well, closer to afternoon, really, but shit -- this is college, it's the weekend, who really gives a fuck when you fall out of bed, right?), and he wakes both of you up by searching through your tiny closet for a towel, and being really _fucking loud_ about it.

Andy whimpers (which apparently will _never_ stop being hot, your twitching cock informs you, though you suppress that thought immediately) and rolls onto his stomach, burying his head in the mattress and covering it with his arms.

"Oh my God, Neal Tiemann, swear t' God 'm gonna fuckin' kill you 'f y'don't knock it th' fuck off..." you groan, turning your back to them both and covering your eyes with your forearm.

Neal laughs -- _loudly,_ goddamn him -- and walks over to the window, yanking the curtains wide open, and you swear aloud that this really is the day he's gonna die, no lie, a bloody, gory death.

"Dude. First of all, y'gotta catch me in order to kill me," he informs you. "And secondly? To catch me, y'gotta getcher ass outta bed. And third? I'm pretty sure I can take you, stick-boy." He clambers onto the bed, bouncing and jostling you as much as possible, and sticks his face right next to yours. "NOW GET THE FUCK UP AND FIND ME A TOWEL!"

He jumps back, roaring with laughter as you lash out at him blindly. "Atta boy, Davey," he snickers, grabbing your arm and hauling you to a sitting position. "Now seriously, man, I'm gross -- where're yer towels?"

You grab your head with both hands as the room spins briefly before grinding to a halt, and then crack your eyes open to the most blinding sight you've ever seen besides your own body in the mirror.

"Jesus Christ, Neal -- put some fucking clothes on!!" you sputter, and apparently you should forego your career as a musician and become a comedian instead, because you're just cracking his shit up.

"David, I'm going to shower -- I can't wear clothes in the shower, dumbass," he replies reasonably, but his voice is filled with such affection that the urge to kill subsides just a tiny bit. "Now seriously -- towel?"

You wave your hand vaguely in the direction of the closet. "'S'over there..." you mumble, trying to concentrate over the pounding in your head.

Neal pads over to the closet again, staring inside of it. "David, I'm only seeing one towel here..."

"Uh-huh."

There's complete silence for once, and you risk squinting at him curiously.

"...It's used."

"Neal...it's just me. How many towels do you expect me to have?"

"Dude."

"Look man, 'm sorry -- that's all I got..."

" _Dude._ "

"Oh my God, seriously? It's been used to dry off a clean body, Neal. It's not riddled with filth, or anything. I mean, I wash it every week..."

Grumbling, he snatches it from the rack and wraps it around his waist, grabs your washcloth as an afterthought, and then turns back to the closet. After a moment, he turns back to the bed where you're actively wishing for a death of your own.

"I almost hate to ask this."

"...Oh God. What now?"

"Soap."

Cursing under your breath to keep from crying, you finally crawl off the bed and stumble to his side, shoving him out of the way.

"Here. Shampoo. Soap. Go."

There's a long pause while he looks back and forth between your extended arm and your face.

"What the fuck is it _now?_ " you grate out between clenched teeth.

"Dude -- shower gel?"

"Liz. Bought. It. For. Me," you snarl, and he takes an involuntary step back, but he can't resist tweaking you a final time.

"You?" He pokes you in the chest. "Are so whipped..."

And he giggles like a madman as he dances past you, and you follow him while graphically describing all the various ways you're going to desecrate his dead body.

Grinning maniacally, he grabs the doorknob and swings the door open, revealing Bobby and Jeff in the hall, with Jeff poised to knock.

Neal snaps into automatic "bad-ass" mode, and stares at them unwaveringly, scratching his crotch elaborately as he gives them both a curt nod.

Bobby's eyes widen, taking in your dishevelment, Neal's barely-covered nudity, and the rumpled form of Andy trying to be invisible on the bed behind you.

Jeff is slowly turning an unflattering shade of purple beside him, staring daggers at you.

"Gentlemen," Neal murmurs without a trace of irony, and nudges past them, strutting down the hall to the bathroom.

Jeff and Bobby turn as one to watch him go, and then turn again to stare at you.

You hear Andy stir behind you on the bed, and you start guiltily, and dammit, your eye is twitching again.

"Dave?" Jeff says, "A word with you, please?" and his voice sounds really weird, and Bobby is murmuring to him in an undertone, urging him not to lose his head.

You move woodenly into the hallway and close the door, sullenly meeting his gaze.

"What the fuck?" he asks, his tone almost oddly pleasant, but his clenched fists tell you so much more than his words ever could.

You shrug self-consciously. "Party got busted last night."

"Got busted, or got _relocated?_ " he retorts, and the pissy look on his face is rather more attitude than you need from him right now.

"'S none 'a yer fuckin' business," you flare, stepping forward with clenched fists of your own, and Bobby steps between you as usual, pushing you apart.

"Jeff, let it go," he urges quietly. "Just ask him what we came here to ask, and let's go."

Jeff makes an inarticulate noise of frustration, and Bobby shoves him aside.

"Never fuckin' mind. Okay, Dave, here's the deal," Bobby says. "Ryan just quit the band, okay?"

"Fuck." You slump against the door wearily, and then peer up at him. "Did he say why?"

"No, and I didn't ask -- but I think I can guess," he replies, glancing back and forth between you and Jeff rather pointedly. "Anyway...didn't you tell us once that Neal--" and here, he jerks a thumb in the direction of the bathroom, "--teaches bass?"

"...Yeah..." you reply slowly, cocking your head.

"Well...can you ask him if he knows anyone that needs the work? I mean, we've got the studio time already booked and paid for, and we've gotta start tracking those songs..." Bobby says, a worried tone creeping into his voice. "Just...see if he knows anyone, okay?"

Rubbing the back of your neck thoughtfully as a plan begins to form in your head, you nod and murmur, "Okay."


End file.
